So saying, he lifted his whip and struck a severe blow at the Don. Quickly, at the same instant, Victoriano and Everett had dashed their horses between, and the blow fell right upon the backs of the two young men.
This act of devotion was scarcely necessary, for as Darrell lifted his whip, and before it fell down, Don Mariano touched his horse with one spur only, giving a quick touch to the reins to one side. The horse jumped aside, sat on his haunches for an instant, half-crouching, half-rearing, and in a second he was up again. Don Mariano smiled at Darrell's clumsy horsemanship, conscious of being able to ride him down and all around him before the belligerent squatter could tell what was happening. Still smiling, the Don rode slowly away. Darrell followed close, and again lifted his whip to strike, but instantaneously he felt as if he had been struck by lightning, or as if an aerolite had fallen upon him. His arm fell powerless by his side, and an iron hoop seemed to encircle him. He looked down to his breast surprised, and there the coil of a reata held him in an iron grip, and he could not move. He looked about him amazed, and saw that the other end of the reata was neatly wound around the pommel of Gabriel's saddle, and that young gentleman sat quietly on his horse, as if waiting Mr. Darrell's orders to move, his handsome face a little pale, but quite composed.
“Go home and bring me my pistols, Webster. I'll fix this brood of greasers,” said Darrell, half choked with rage and the tight embrace of the reata.
Webster hesitated, and looked towards his brother for advice. Everett winked, and Webster understood at once that Everett meant that he should go, but bring no pistols. He galloped off towards home.
The horse that Darrell was riding was the mate of the one that Webster rode, so that when he saw his partner go off towards home, he thought he must do the same, and followed. As the reins hung loosely upon his neck, he naturally supposed that he was to follow at the pace his companion went, so he started at a gallop to catch up with Webster.
Thus now began a most ridiculous steeple-chase going home. Darrell could not check his horse or do anything but hold to the pommel of his saddle, his arms being pinioned to his body. Gabriel, fearing to let go the reata, which, if loosened, might entangle the horse, and thus pull the old man off his saddle, followed, maintaining the reata at an even, gentle tension, carefully keeping at the same distance. Victoriano and Everett saw nothing to do but follow, trying to get near Darrell to catch him in case he should lose his balance going over the rough ground of the plowed field.
The two Indian vaqueros after putting their cattle in the corral, came down to inquire for further orders, and seeing the race going on, they thought they could join in, too. So, putting spurs to their horses, they began to run and shout in high glee. Noticing that the patron, Don Gabriel, held a reata in his hands, the lazo end of which was attached to Darrell, they thought that for sport Don Gabriel had thrown the lazo on the old squatter. Having come to this conclusion, they began to shout and hurrah with renewed vigor.
“Apa! viejo escuata ó cabestreas ó te órcas,” cried one.
“No le afloje patroncito Gabriel,” said the other.
Now the ground being very rough, Darrell began to sway, as if losing his balance.